


It's un-ironic so what

by SnazzyCookies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnazzyCookies/pseuds/SnazzyCookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From <a href="http://homesmut.livejournal.com/10240.html?thread=17619712#t17619712">this prompt</a> on the kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's un-ironic so what

You're sitting in class, bored as fuck as usual. You have the most comfortable seat in the room- the desk in the back right corner- where you can lean against not one but  _two_  walls, and you comfortably fold your hands over your stomach as you stretch out your legs in front of you and do your very, very best to show how much attention you're not paying.

Years of wearing shades have taught you the art of knowing how to look at things. People always assume that you're looking at wherever your face is pointing- so you point it in the direction of the blackboard, and then, so long as you hold your head still, you're free to move your eyes wherever you please. So nobody knows when you shift them to stare at John; even just the back of his head is adorable...

Fuck, you did not just think the word 'adorable'. No. Not. Nope. Being gay is fine; being mushy and cute and girly about it is  _not_. You're a Strider; you're tough and cool as hell and sex for you is  _hot_ , not  _cute_ , dammit. There's a reason you're attracted to dudes; girls are too girly for you. 

John giggles at some lame joke the teacher made, and your heart is falling all over itself with adorableness. Fuck. You can't stop staring at him; at his profile as he smiles the most genuine grin because he really, actually is laughing; not some fake laugh that most of the other girls give...

Dammit, John is not a girl! He has a cock and you want it and if you ever manage to confess your feelings to him...

Fuck, fuck, fuck, 'confess your feelings', Dave? How lame-ass can you get? You won't be confessing shit; if you ever tell John how you feel you'll do it with so much attitude and coolness he won't be able to say no, that's how...

Except you know John wouldn't like that. John...John...

In your mind, you ring his doorbell, and hell, you're wearing a fucking suit because...well because he'd like it, that's why.

He opens the door with a questioning face because he just thinks you're over to play Xbox, and that's when you pull the flowers out from behind your back.

Fuck you Bro, it's ironic, okay?

But irony is of course, completely lost on John, and his smile brightens up like the fucking Green Sun.

"You got me flowers, Dave?"

Fuck, yes I got you flowers.

He takes them from your fist with reverence and your cheeks burn.

"Hang on, let me just get these in some water."

Dammit, John, that's the most cliché line you could possibly have said. Of course he would say that; John  _loves_  cliché lines and bad movies. Yeah, that's exactly what he'd say.

He comes back to the door, and he's wearing a suit now. That turquoise one he alchemized with the bootleg ghostbusters ghost on it. And your heart beats faster because it's...ironic. Right, ironic.

You stick out your fucking elbow and he slips his arm through yours like he's a lady and it's 1850. And you step off the porch to head to the awesome Camaro Bro's gonna buy you when you get a license, because you're pretty sure he doesn't want you driving around in some uncool piece of shit.

The bell rings and you snap out of your  _ridiculous_ , unironic, uncool daydream. What the fuck kind of daydream is that, anyway? You're supposed to be thinking about sex, about getting John's pants off, not...whatever the hell that was. Romance. Uncool as fuck.

"Hey Dave, did you get that part about the supply and demand of corn? I didn't understand what Mr. Thatcher was saying."

"Because I was totally paying attention to that shit." you reply, and John giggles, and your heart folds its hands together and puts them up to its cheek as it goes "awwwwww!"

Dammit, John, why do you have to be so cute?

For the rest of the day, no matter how you try to fight it, the fantasy just gets worse. Now you're fucking holding the passenger side door open for him as he gets into your fucking cool as hell car. He's making all sorts of exclamations about the awesomeness of your car as you get in.

"Dave, where are we going?"

"You'll find out when we get there."

You should be taking him to a kick-ass club where you show off your DJ skills or maybe an awesome rock concert but no, you're taking him to the poshest five-star restaurant that you're positive you'll never be able to afford. You're walking around the car to open the door for him. He's taking your arm again, and your cheeks are burning as you walk inside and he's impressed because you've gotten reservations.

You hold the fucking chair out for him as he sits down and then the bell rings and that was math class.

You spend English class going through the meal. Ordering fucking wine, telling John he can get whatever the fuck he wants, don't worry about the price, dude. 

He tells you all about his shitty movies, and about his day at school, and about his homework and all the things John cares about that you don't and for once, you listen.

Then he starts telling you about what an awesome friend you are. About how cool it is that you've been best bros forever. You reach out your hand across the table and place your palm over the back of his hand, and he starts to stutter. 

"Dave, is this a date, or something?"

No, John, this is just two bros hanging out for fun, fuck yes this is a date.

"Yeah, maybe."

His cheeks turn all pink in the low candle light, and your heart's beating faster. Damn, the shadows across his face are so cute, and he's looking at you from under his eyelids as he shyly glances away.

"It's kinda pretty romantic."

Your heart beats even faster.

"So?"

"So?" he says, turning to look at you, and you turn to butter under the gaze of those gorgeous, brilliant blue eyes. "I love romance, Dave. I just...I never thought I'd get to do this with you, I mean, you hate cliché stuff..."

All of a sudden there's a live band, and they start playing some romantic tune. You get up and go to his side of the table.

"Can I have this dance, good sir?"

His face flushes and inwardly you squirm because you  _know_  you're not supposed to think this is as hot at it is. He turns his face away shyly and nods and you lift his hand and then you're  _dancing_ , not grinding to a heavy beat at a party, but a slow waltz, with one arm extended and your other one around his waist as he's got his other hand on your shoulder, and you lead him flawlessly around that dance floor and he's John so he's got two left feet but hell this is your daydream so he dances perfectly, too.

The bell rings, and school is fucking over.

You jam your earbuds in your ears and take your reserved seat in the back of the bus...and lean against the window as you put on the waltz you downloaded for ironic purposes. You put on the best "don't bother me" face you have- which is the same face you always have- and people leave you alone.

John leans forward and rests his cheek on your shoulder. You rest yours on the top of his head and close your eyes as you pull him close, and your breath is coming faster and damn, this is fucking hot. You move your hand from on his waist to around his back, holding him close as you sway slowly to a romantic fifties tune, the kind the Midnight crew would have playing in the background, and now you're both wearing pinstripe suits and damn, John is fucking hot.

The only reason you casually saunter off the bus and walk slowly up to your apartment is because you have years of practice acting calm when you're not. You toss your backpack on the floor by the door, along with your shoes, where you're certain Bro will trip on them later when he comes home, but you don't give a fuck. Before you're home for twenty seconds you're in your room, door shut and locked, sitting on your bed, pants at your knees. You're already more than half-hard, but you don't touch it yet. You wait. A fucking gentleman should fucking wait.

Your date with John is over. You're supposed to drive him back to his place, but whoops, I drove home by mistake.

"Dave, this is your apartment, not my house..."

"Yeah," you say, going around, opening the car door for him, offering him your hand. "Got a surprise for you," you tell him. Holy shit, this is so fucking lame, it's so cheesy, it's so...

His smile is so perfect you don't fucking care. You bring him into your apartment, and it's your fantasy so of course, Bro's nowhere to be found. You lead John to your room, and everything's set up perfectly. Yeah, you bought fucking candles, and that's the only thing that lights the room up, and yeah, there's a rose and a box of expensive chocolates,  _not_  made by Betty Crocker on the bed.

"Dave, um, wow..."

You smile as you watch his face in the candlelight. There's definitely something wrong with you because you think candlelight is the hottest, sexiest thing ever and then you're kissing him, your arms wrapped around him, holding him close, and he's moaning into your mouth.

"Dave, your kisses are so smooth and perfect..."

You move down to kiss his neck, and he groans, and you don't even have to push him to your bed, he falls to it on his own. His hair is mussed just so and his suit jacket- no, tuxedo jacket- is open and your fingers go straight to the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing his stomach. You brush his skin and he giggles because he's ticklish but wow, you can already see him tenting in his trousers and you spend forever undressing him, slowly easing him out of the jacket, hanging it carefully on the doorknob of your closet. The shirt is next, but you work the bowtie around the collar to keep it on him, because damn, John Egbert wearing nothing but a tuxedo bow tie is so fucking hot you don't care if even the real John would laugh at you for that.

You tease him through his slacks, rubbing your palm up his dick until he whimpers, but you wait, you wait for the cheesy line that's so fucking cliché you're sure even Cal would be ashamed of you for thinking it but damn, you want him to say it and this is your fucking fantasy, so he does.

"Dave, please take my virginity..."

Fuck, it's so hot. You don't argue, don't say a word, you smile and lick your lips and now you're carefully undoing the button on his slacks (he's got to return this thing, you can't fucking damage it), and now you're pulling down the zipper and he's wearing fucking silk black boxers and you're so hard it hurts. 

You carefully hang up the slacks, too, and you turn back to him and now you've got John Egbert, naked except for a bowtie and glasses, spread out on your bed in candlelight with a fucking rose in his teeth.

 _Now_  you start to stroke your dick in real life, in your room where it's daytime and the sun is streaming in through the blinds, but you ignore it as you shut your eyes and pretend it's John's hand, tentative and shy, and you skip the part where you take your own clothes off because that's boring, and now you're lying beside him and you're both stroking each other's dicks, slow and sweet and patient, and he looks up at you with those gorgeous blue eyes and says the thing, the real thing, the thing you're always dying to hear from him and know you'll never get to hear him say.

"Dave, let me see your eyes."

And you do; the soft candle light isn't too harsh at all and you take off your shades, and he gazes into your eyes, enraptured by them, seduced by them, and he's helpless under your hands as you stroke him into a puddle of lustful mush.

You're so hard you can't be patient anymore, so you rise up onto your knees and between his legs. In real life you'd have to spend time prepping him and you're sure that's romantic but right now you're fucking dying to go off at this point so you just lift his legs, hooking his knees over your shoulders and just slide in, and this is a perfect fantasy so it doesn't hurt him at all, he just groans with as much pleasure as you do and fuck, you're making love to John and with each stroke of your hand you imagine it's you pushing up into him and he groans, and clasps the sheets in his fingers, and closes his eyes and that bow tie is damn sexy, and you're tired of slow so you fuck him fast and hard and he moans with pleasure and you're moving your hand so fast you're arm's getting tired and finally, yes, yes, yes, John, uh....

Your head falls back and you smack it on the wall, and your cum on your own hand brings you back to reality. You sit, dazed, that after-orgasm crash erasing the fantasy almost instantly, ruining the last part, the part that you know in real life is the best part, the part where he snuggles against your shoulder and falls asleep, candles glowing all around you.

You grab a bunch of tissues and clean up the mess. You realize you're hungry. You grab some cookies out of the kitchen and a soda and come back to your room and log on to pesterchum.

 

 **\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:15 --**

 **  
TG: sup   
**

**  
EB: hey dave! how are you? I haven't seen you for...an hour!   
**

**  
TG: yeah hey wanna come over tomorrow or something   
**

**  
EB: sure! my dad just bought me a new controller since you broke my last one   
**

**  
TG: its not my fucking fault your buttons were sticky   
**

**  
EB: yeah, but it's your fault you threw it into the wall!   
**

**  
TG: it had to be done   
**

**  
TG: it had to be put out of its misery   
**

**  
EB: lol!   
**

**  
EB: you know, we could always watch an awesome nick cage movie instead. that way you don't have to break anything!   
**

**  
TG: fuck that noise, nick cage is not romantic he is the opposite of romantic   
**

**  
EB: ...who said anything about romance?   
**

**  
  
  
**

Fuck. Your blood turns cold. You swallow as you try to think of a way out of this...and then realize that maybe you don't want to.

 

 **

TG: what isnt that your favorite kind of movie

**

 **  
EB: well yeah, but I know you hate it, so...   
**

**  
TG: maybe you should put more effort into changing my mind on that. fuck egbert you give up on things so easily   
**

**  
EB: dave, I...um...uh...   
**

**  
TG: for all we know maybe i even fucking like romance but well never find out because you never pushed me hard enough to try it   
**

**  
TG: some friend you are   
**

** EB: okay, okay, geeze! i'll bring over all my romcoms, okay?**

 ** TG: whatever.**

 ** EB: okay then**

 ** TG: ok  
**

 ** EB: ...dave?**

 ** TG: if you tell anyone about this i will kill you**

 ** EB: i thought so.**

 ** EB: dave i like you too, okay?**

 ** TG: ...**

 ** TG: ...**

 ** TG: ...okay**

 ** TG: cool  
**

You stare at the screen and know that you shouldn't feel as happy as you do. You don't fucking care.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~I know there's a secret to making these pesterlogs accurately colored...if you know that secret, please tell me and I will fix this.~~  
>  Thank you, eremiticBacchant!


End file.
